Of Sight and Sovereignty: An American Affidavit”
CHAPTER XII.
In Which Mr. John Goe, Late of the High Desert, Makes a Declaration of Desperate Circumstance and Most Unfortunate Malady
In the County of (Redacted), within the bounds of the Sovereign State of Arizona,
and before an officer duly authorized to administer oaths and bear witness to the woes of men,
there came forth one Mr. John Goe, a man of some sixty-five years, who did solemnly affirm and depose as follows:
That he, Mr. Goe (a name assumed here for the protection of his privacy and good repute), is a gentleman of retirement—formerly employed in the rugged, sun-scorched trade of cattle herding—and now resides upon a modest parcel of ranchland, surrounded by beasts of burden and the bramble of the desert West.
That it was some fifteen years past—an age in which his beard had just begun to grey and his joints to mutter—that he was informed by a physician of reputable standing that he suffered from open-angle glaucoma in both eyes; a malady most cruel and insidious in its course.
That this affliction is no stranger to his bloodline: his dear mother and her brother were each, in turn, claimed by its shadow—losing first their vision, and soon thereafter, their independence—despite, or perhaps because of, the prevailing medical arts of their day.
That in the course of battling this degenerative fate, he was prescribed a veritable armamentarium of tinctures and tonics: pilocarpine and epinephrine, Diamox and—at times—phospholine iodide; each intended to arrest the rising tide of intraocular pressure.
That the result of this medicinal barrage, though well-intended, was lamentably severe: the noble organ of the heart afflicted, the breath shortened, the clarity of vision further clouded by cataracts, and both the kidney and the prostate rendered so aggrieved as to require the surgeon’s blade.
That the mind, too, was not spared, but plunged into melancholy, as if the soul itself recoiled from the ceaseless chemical siege.
That in the month of January, Anno Domini 1978, Mr. Goe became acquainted with medical literature and certain scientific findings which suggested that Cannabis sativa, known in common parlance as “marijuana,” might possess the capacity to lower intraocular pressure in those afflicted with glaucoma.
That he made diligent inquiry amongst the limited medical fraternity in his vicinity, beseeching assistance in the lawful pursuit of this botanical remedy; but alas, the two oculists he approached recoiled from engagement, citing fears of entanglement in matters of law and reputation.
That providentially, one country doctor—though not an eye specialist—did consent to conduct informal measurements of his condition, and under such observation, Mr. Goe did procure marijuana through illicit means and observed a notable reduction in ocular pressure.
That though his home lies in the state of Arizona, he has turned his hopeful gaze eastward, toward the neighbouring State of New Mexico, where legislation has recently been passed offering the promise of legal cannabis to patients besieged by this very condition.
That the sands of time and vision both run low for Mr. Goe, and that, by the testimony of his physicians, he stands upon the precipice of blindness; that one final slip in pressure may cast him forever into darkness.
That he has taken to purchasing marijuana from the “street,” a term most unsavoury and fraught with risk, for the price is steep, the quality uncertain, and the contents possibly poisoned—a fact which causes him considerable alarm.
That he avows, with clear conscience, that he has experienced no deleterious effects from its usage; and though he was unfamiliar with the practice of inhalation before, he has found the herb's only discernible impact to be a mild tranquility.
That his greatest dread is not of the drug itself, but of the consequence of its unavailability: that, for want of a lawful and affordable source, he shall lose his vision entirely, despite the presence of a medicine known—by both empirical measure and personal trial—to grant him reprieve.
Thus ends the testimony of Mr. Goe, who, though of humble bearing and no great station, stands as a man beset by injustice, appealing not for pity, but for recognition of the cruel arithmetic that denies him the means to save what remains of his sight.
Let it be entered into the record that this affidavit was sworn and subscribed before a notary public on a date not herein disclosed.
Citations
Glaucoma Research Foundation. Understanding and Living with Glaucoma. Accessed 2025.
Hepler, R.S., Frank, I.M. “Marihuana smoking and intraocular pressure.” Journal of the American Medical Association (1971).
National Eye Institute. “Facts About Glaucoma.” NIH.gov.
Randall, R.C., & O’Leary, A. (1998). Marijuana Rx: The Patients’ Fight for Medicinal Pot.
Arizona Revised Statutes. Title 36 - Public Health and Safety. (Applicable legal context for 1970s-1980s Arizona).
New Mexico Controlled Substances Therapeutic Research Act, 1978.
DEA Hearings, 1980. Testimonies regarding patient marijuana use for glaucoma (archived).
To the Honourable Gentlemen and Ladies of Medicine, Law, and Governance, Wherever Seated:
Philadelphia, this 7th Day of August, Year Two Thousand Twenty-Five.
Re: In Defence of Plain Men and Common Remedies
Dear Sirs and Madams,
Permit me, if you please, to answer—though not with powdered wig nor parliamentary flourish, but rather with the ink-stained fingers of a printer, a patient, and a patriot. Having reviewed the sworn statement of one John Goe, a gentleman of modest estate and forthright tongue, I find his case both common and consequential.
Here is a man, born not into fortune nor folly, but into toil, open air, and duty. A cowboy, he says—by which I gather not a player of pageants, but one who knows the weight of beasts, the shape of horizon, and the ache of honest labor. Fifteen years beset by a creeping thief—glaucoma, that silent strangler of sight. Fifteen years prescribed the tinctures of modern alchemy, from pilocarpine to diamox, with results most grievous: a weakened heart, troubled breath, and eyes dimmed not by disease alone, but by the very cure meant to save them.
And now, with dignity still intact but vision failing, he turns not to vice, nor vengeance, but to a plant—natural, humble, old as the hills—whose efficacy is known to both shepherd and scholar. Yet for this, the State threatens him with the full force of its cumbrous machinery.
Let us be clear. When a man of sixty-five winters, with a record of lawful life and contribution, seeks to preserve the faculties God gave him—not by deception, but by the same method our ancestors employed before patent or pill—ought he not to be assisted, rather than prosecuted?
If John Goe is a criminal, then Nature herself is his accomplice.
This, dear reader, is not a matter for doctors alone, nor for judges robed in Latin. It is a matter of conscience and country. The liberty to breathe freely, to see one’s grandchildren, to walk without stumbling into darkness—these are not luxuries. They are the substance of life itself. And if a plant, born of the Earth and tilled by no man, may preserve them—then woe unto the Republic that punishes such use while profiting from worse.
It is my conviction, humble though it be, that the soul of a Nation is measured not by the strength of its armies, nor the width of its treasuries, but by the kindness it shows to its weakest citizens.
Let John Goe see the sunrise, I say. And let him see it in peace.
I am, with Respect and Resolution,
Your Most Obedient and Humble Servant,
B. Franklin
Printer, Philosopher, Friend of the Republic
General George Washington Mode
Mount Vernon, the 7th of August, 2025
To Mr. B. Franklin, Printer, Philosopher, and Friend of Liberty,
Sir,
I have read with solemn attention your recent correspondence regarding the Affidavit of Mr. John Goe, a citizen of the State of Arizona and, by every indication, a man of industrious spirit and sound moral character. Your words, as ever, are laced with the clarity of reason and the tempered fire of righteous indignation—a combination I have long admired in your service to this Republic.
Permit me to respond in kind—not as the Commander of armies, but as a fellow citizen, farmer, and servant of the people.
The matter before us is not obscure, nor is it new. It is the old contest, ever reborn: whether government shall be a guardian of liberty or an instrument of tyranny masked by procedure and parchment. Here we find a man afflicted with ailment, who seeks not mischief nor rebellion, but relief. He asks not for charity, only the liberty to apply such remedies as nature and prudence afford him. That this man should be met not with assistance but with suspicion is, to my mind, an affront to the very purpose of government.
When I laid down my sword and returned to my fields, it was with the hope that this country might, by steady hand and virtuous principle, avoid the corruption and cruelty which have undone so many empires. But I see now that even in our present day—though cloaked in scientific terminology and bureaucratic indifference—the old habits of power endure: the punishment of the peaceful, the silencing of the weak, the exaltation of profit above compassion.
Sir, the plant to which Mr. Goe turns for relief is not the invention of rebels, nor the province of criminals. It is, like corn and cotton, a gift of Providence, as much a part of the Creator’s bounty as the air we breathe or the rivers that shape our lands. If it may bring ease to the suffering—without harm to his neighbors or treason to his country—then who among us is righteous enough to forbid it?
Let those in authority consider this carefully: to deny a man the means to preserve his sight, simply because that means does not enrich the pharmaceutical empires or conform to the cold machinery of statute, is not law—it is despotism in disguise.
I say to Mr. Goe: stand firm in the truth. And I say to our lawmakers: if you would honor the sacrifices made by those who bore arms for liberty, then let it be shown not in parades or speeches, but in policies which dignify the lives of the governed.
In closing, I commend your letter, Mr. Franklin, to every citizen who values their freedoms. If the cause of one honest rancher in the Arizona Territory can rouse our conscience, then perhaps the embers of the Revolution are not yet extinguished.
With highest consideration, I remain,
Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,
Geo. Washington
A Letter from President Abraham Lincoln
Springfield, Illinois
August 7, 2025
To Be Read Aloud in Every Chamber Where Justice Sleeps
To Mr. Franklin, Mr. Washington, and to the People of These United States:
It is with a heavy heart and a hopeful spirit that I address the matter now before us—the sworn statement of Mr. John Goe, a man known neither to history nor to fame, but whose affliction, endurance, and character render him worthy of both.
I have read the affidavit. I have studied the letters that followed. And I am moved—first by the clarity of his suffering, and then by the obscurity of his relief.
This Republic was not established that men should suffer quietly under laws grown blind to the needs of the people. It was founded upon a proposition—that all are created equal—and sustained by the hope that government may serve, not rule, the governed.
Here stands a citizen—a rancher, a laborer, a husband—who asks not for indulgence, but for reason. He has suffered illness; he has tried every remedy prescribed by his doctors, and when those failed him—when they nearly broke him—he turned to a plant older than our flag, older than our Constitution, and found in it, not intoxication, but reprieve.
And for this, he is made a criminal.
If that be justice, then I confess I know not the meaning of the word.
Men have argued, in high places and in loud voices, that laws must be enforced, that order must prevail. I agree. But I would remind them that no law was ever made more sacred by being made more cruel. And no order ever endured long when it denied the peace it was sworn to uphold.
The question, therefore, is not whether Mr. Goe broke the law, but whether the law broke its compact with him.
If a man may preserve his sight with a flower of the field, and yet be punished for doing so, then we are not a nation of laws, but of chains.
In times past, I have seen this Republic torn in two by the insistence that property mattered more than people, that power mattered more than conscience. I say to you now, in this quieter hour but no less dangerous time, that such thinking still abides—only it wears a different coat, and speaks in bureaucratic tones.
Let us not pretend that the suffering of the few is a trifle, nor that the moral health of a nation may be maintained while the physical health of its citizens is left to decay.
Let us not be content to wring our hands over the blind, when we have refused them the means to see.
And let us remember—always—that the true test of our laws is not how they serve the mighty, but how they shelter the vulnerable.
I urge this nation, and its lawmakers, to reflect. Reflect not only on Mr. Goe, but on all those who suffer quietly beneath the weight of indifference and delay. Ask not what punishment is lawful, but what mercy is just. Ask not whether a man has obeyed the statute, but whether the statute has obeyed the Constitution—and the conscience of a free people.
The Union, if it is to endure, must be as bold in compassion as it is in policy. And if we are to honor the blood that has been shed for liberty, then let it not be said that we denied a man the right to save his sight—because the law preferred blindness.
I remain, as ever,
Your Fellow Citizen,
A. Lincoln
